If Not For Ron Weasley
by L. Dora Willows
Summary: If not for Ron Weasley, there are so many emotions Hermione would never have experienced. Oneshot which first consists of Hermione's thoughts, and then gasp a confession! But by whom?


**If Not For Ron Weasley**

If not for Ron Weasley I wouldn't know what it feels like to be in love. I still can't understand how someone can possibly be so perfect. This isn't something you can read about in a book, not something you can learn in a class, and it scares me how much I love him.

His cobalt blue eyes seem to radiate with a light that shines from his very soul. They show his kindness and Gryffindor courage. His determination to be an auror. His jealousy – and yes, now I'm certain it was jealousy – of Victor Krum. Ron's eyes…when he looks at me with that lopsided smile on his face I could just melt.

Although we row nearly all the time, they are rows fueled by passion. I'm sure we could never row as vigorously as we do were we not in love. During our rows I feel empowered, and the entire world seems to disappear right before my eyes except for Ron. Afterwards, it's the exact opposite. I feel terrible, angry and confused at the same time, and sad that it has to be this way.

When Ron's not with me, I can't keep my mind on anything. I just wander around the common room like a lost puppy, waiting for him to return. Of course, he's equally as distracting when we're in the same room. A day has yet to go by without me staring at him instead of focusing on schoolwork. Yes, _me_, Hermione Granger, putting a boy ahead of schoolwork.

People tend to underestimate Ron. They see him as Harry Potter's sidekick, or as just another Weasley. What they don't see is an amazing chess player, carefully scrutinizing each and every move. Although Ron is far from the best at academics – if he would just try a bit harder, I'm sure he could top each class – he is the greatest chess player I have ever known.

Ron can be quite the insensitive prat sometimes. However, he's never purposefully cruel. There have been a few incidents where he came quite close, but I don't think he would hurt me on purpose. He's quite sweet at times. Although I wouldn't go so far as to say he's the nicest person in the world, he's certainly my favorite.

Sometimes our hands will brush, sending shivers down my spine and a rapid increase in my heartbeat. It's amazing how something so innocent can have such an affect on me, but after the first time our hands touched I couldn't stop staring at his. I imagined what it would be like to hold those hands. They're so warm, and I know this sounds crazy but I swear I can feel energy radiating off him, almost as if he has an aura.

I would die for him. A bit dramatic, a bit abrupt, but it's the truth. I don't even have to stop to consider it – I know I would. I've known since fourth year. Oh God…I think…I think I care about him more than myself.

I love Ron, and lately I've been suspicious that he just might return those feelings. I'm sure they could never be as extreme as mine though. I once read that girls my age tend to feel things more strongly than boys. I doubt any boy in our year, no matter how mature, has ever known the extent of just how much you can love someone.

If Ron feels the same way I do, he hasn't acted on those feelings. The best he could do was give me a belated invite to the Yule Ball. But it was a throwaway comment. I was a last resort, a second thought. I always am. Let's just say Hermione Granger is no Fleur Delacour.

At least I invited him to Slughorn's Christmas party. I knew how much he wanted to go, and all I ever wanted was for him to be happy. To see that amazing smile as often as possible.

Sixth year was a tough one. I had to deal with seeing him snogging "Lav-Lav" nearly twenty four hours a day. That broke my heart. He had hurt me before, simply leaving scratches and cuts in it. Occasionally, he did leave a rather large gash, but they never did lasting damage. It's just impossible to describe how much pain I went through with that. I mean, what did he see in her?

But we're past that now. When Ron got poisoned…when I heard the news…I thought I was going to die on the spot. How could I live without Ron? Would I have the courage to kill myself – would I have the courage _not_ to? I would have taken his place, could I have been able to.

Ron is just…Ron. I used to be able to pick away at him, to find a million faults a day. But it's getting harder and harder, my view is getting more and more distorted. Being in love tends to blind you from a person's imperfections, or lack there of, and see them as the most amazing being to walk the face of the earth.

If not for Ron Weasley, I don't think I would feel complete. Loving him seems to have become a part of me now.

…

My musings are interrupted by the arrival of none other than Ron Weasley himself. His shocking red hair is riddled with snowflakes, and he has a dazed expression upon his face, as though he were lost in thought as I had been.

"Hey Hermione," he says, plopping down next to me on the scarlet overstuffed sofa in the Gryffindor common room.

It's nearly Christmas time, and the common room is appropriately decorated. Chains of snowflakes are hung around the walls, and I've heard rumors that there is concealed mistletoe that will appear over people's heads at random moments.

I blush at the thought of kissing Ron. I want to – of course I do – but I'm quite nervous about it. What if he thought I was complete rubbish and never wanted to kiss again? I have no idea what one is supposed to do when kissing – I never really snogged Victor – he snogged me and I just stood there, squirming and wishing he were Ron.

"Hi, Ron," I say, my heart thumping nosily, banging against the walls of my chest, and a lump in my throat. Why do I go to pieces around him? I never used to, even in first year when I had a developing crush on him, I was still able to remain calm and collected in his presence.

How is he able to do this? Is he even aware he is?

"What's wrong?" he asks, looking concerned, "you seem upset."

I feel the blood rush to my head. He's so considerate and caring. It's sort of pathetic how the simplest thing makes me love him even more.

"I'm…fine…" I say faintly, suddenly aware of how close we're sitting. Oh Merlin, I knew I wasn't imagining things. The energy flowing from his body, the, well, _Ron-ness_ pouring out of his eyes is more than I can bear. I stare straight ahead, not trusting myself to look into his eyes for fear I'll give myself away. Maybe if he radiates this…amazing energy…I do too. Maybe he can sense it and can tell I'm madly in love with him just by sitting near me. But he must not feel the same or he would have _said_ something. He must not like me back, and now, oh, things are going to be so awkward between us and…

Oh God.

He's picked up my hand and is holding it.

All previous thoughts rush out of my mind, and all I can think of is that our hands are touching. Not just brushing by in passing, but actually touching. I feel tingles spreading from my fingertips to my toes, and I nearly start shaking with overwhelming love for him.

Just as I suspected, his hand is pleasantly warm, a great contrast to my clammy one. My hands always go clammy when I think of Ron.

"Hermione," he says again, and my heart leaps to hear his lips speak my name. He claps my hand more tightly, and it's all I can do to stop myself from squeaking. "I'm worried about you." His eyebrows furrow, and he looks back to me. I still avoid his gaze, my cheeks flaming.

See what I mean by considerate?

"Ron, there's nothing to be worried about – I'm fine," I lie.

"Bloody hell Hermione, no you're not!" he shouts, dropping my hand and standing up, pacing, "I've known you since first year, and although I'm not great at reading your emotions, I mean you're a bloody confusing girl, you know that? The point is – I can sometimes tell when something is wrong – and you haven't looked me in the eye for weeks. Can you just tell me what I did so we can have our ruddy row and get it over with?"

I feel tears begin to prickle in my eyes. This is his insensitive side.

"Well at least you remembered that I'm a girl!" I snap, my temper getting the better of me, "I'm surprised you even knew I had feelings to begin with, after – after the damned Yule Ball…and….and Lavender!"

Ron stares at me in shock. "You just swore…" he says slowly.

"Yes, and so what if I did? Ron Weasley lately you've been giving me a lot more reason to swear!"

"What?" he asks, ears turning bright red. Seconds go by as I stare at him, and he stares back at me. I think his eyes have some sort of hypnotic power – I can't tear myself away from them.

I take a deep breath, trying to dispel the urge to throw my arms around him and tell him everything.

"I just…you see…it really…really hurt me when you s-snogged her…and when you asked me to the ball as a last resort."

"Why?" Ron asks, staring at me still. I've finally broken free from his spell, my eyes now fixated on the plush common room carpet.

"Well, if you were in…in…if you really...if someone…" Oh, I can't do this. When I try to tell him how I feel the words catch in my throat, reminding me of the first time I tried jumping into a swimming pool. No matter how I tried, I couldn't make my feet move from its side, and firmly planted they stayed until my parents finally made me give up and go home.

But it's time to take the plunge.

"If you were in love with someone – and I mean truly, deeply, madly in love with them," I say forcedly, my cheeks flaming and my heart pounding wildly. I can't believe I'm about to do this.

"You're in love?" Ron interrupts, looking furious, "with who? Not…not _Krum_…or McLaggan?"

"N-no," I respond, lip quivering.

"With who?" he demands, the flush in his ears spreading throughout his entire face.

"Someone in our year. A Gryffindor." I say evasively. Maybe if I can get him to guess...

"Neville?" Ron asks, his voice rising an octave. "You're in love with _Neville_? Bloody _hell_."

I can't help but giggle at the thought of being in love with Neville Longbottom, but Ron seems to take my giggle as a yes.

"You _are_?" he moans, burying his face in his arms.

"Ron –" I begin, trying to explain to him that I certainly am _not_ in love with Neville, but he holds up a hand and cuts me off.

"Forget it," he mutters, pushing past me to head out into the corridor, but then turns to face me.

"Well," he says venomously, "seeing as you and _Longbottom_ are an _item_ now, I suppose this will mean nothing to you, but I've loved you for a very, very long time, Hermione. I'm just sorry I missed my chance with you."

He turns to leave once more, and is climbing out of the Portrait hole when his words register.

"YOU LOVE ME?" I shriek, staring at him and hardly daring to believe it.

"Yeah," he mumbles, looking uncomfortable and shoving his hands into the pockets of his robes. Hands that had held mine. Hands that were meant to be holding mine, "sorry to be an inconvenience. Do me a favor and don't invite me to your wedding."

"But Ron, you've got to come to my wedding," I whisper breathlessly, "one can't have a wedding without a groom…"

"I – you – but he – _WHAT?_" he splutters.

"Ron, you prat, I love you too. I always have." I inform him matter-of-factly.

"You…me…" he says, still looking bewildered.

"And if you had bothered to read _Hogwarts, a History_, like I kept nagging you to, you would've found out a long time ago," I add, "as I wrote your name in a heart on the very first page."

Ron seems to have finally realized what happened. He reaches for my hand and, wonderingly, I give it to him. This seems to good to be true. I know I'll wake up any minute in the girl's dorm, only to find it was just a dream.

He pulls me close to him, and I rest my head on his shoulder, his hand sliding down to hug my waist. I feel our energies blend together. I feel complete.

I stand on tip-toe to look into those eyes of his, and he looks back. Only this time it isn't a vacant stare, it's a focused one and I know that I have never wanted anything more than for his lips to be on mine at this very moment. Almost as though he had read my mind, Ron obliges, and leans in to kiss me.

…

Kissing Ron was amazing. It was a pure, chaste, innocent kiss, exactly the sort of sweetness I wanted between us.

And as we sat together afterwards, as he held me in his arms, I realized.

If not for Ron Weasley, I would never have known pure bliss.


End file.
